


that devil's passed this way again

by amosanguis



Series: author's fave [109]
Category: Red Dead Redemption
Genre: Angst, Gen, Post-Canon, Spoilers, Time Travel or Hell or Maybe A Bit of Both, Title from a Country Song, Unreliable Narrator
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-18
Updated: 2018-12-18
Packaged: 2019-09-22 05:17:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17053868
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amosanguis/pseuds/amosanguis
Summary: “You’ll sleep the day away,” Hosea says.Arthur blinks up at him for a moment. “Well, seein’ as how we’re both dead, it don’t matter much how long I sleep, does it?” he asks.Alternatively: Arthur might have traveled back in time or he might be in Hell, either way Micah's not gonna make it.





	that devil's passed this way again

**Author's Note:**

> \--Title from "Billy the Kid" by Chris LeDoux  
> 

-z-

 

Arthur died – he knows he did.

Arthur died – and then he wakes up, shaken into consciousness by Hosea.

“You’ll sleep the day away,” Hosea says.

Arthur blinks up at him for a moment. “Well, seein’ as how we’re both dead, it don’t matter much how long I sleep, does it?” he asks.

Hosea chuckles, the wet sound in his lungs loud even as the wind outside threatens to blow apart the little cabin they’re in. A little cabin that looks – Arthur glances around – well, it looks familiar.

“That’s a little dramatic, don’t you think?” Hosea counters. “Why don’t we leave the theatrics to Dutch, hm?”

“Dutch?” Arthur snaps, rushing to his feet, feeling anger swelling in his chest. “Dutch is the one that got us killed. He left us both to rot – or have you forgotten?” Hosea opens his mouth to speak, but Arthur cuts him off with a wave of his hand and a scoff. “Ah, you’ve been dead longer than me – so maybe wherever we are we forget about Before, after a time.”

“Arthur,” Hosea says his name slow, raises his hands in a calming gesture, “you must’ve had some dream. You’re talking nonsense.”

Arthur rolls his eyes and before he can say anything, the door in another room opens and briefly the wind is louder before it’s shut out again as the door closes. Then he hears the stomping of boots against the floor and Dutch’s voice, “Goddamned _cold_.”

That’s when Arthur notices that it is – it’s _goddamned cold_. He looks down at his gloved hands and the warm blue coat – the one he hasn’t worn since he’d gotten a warmer one from the trapper.

“I thought Hell was supposed to be hot,” Arthur says to Hosea, before he brushes past the older man and into the room where Dutch was just shaking off the snow from his jacket and settling before the fire.

“Hey, Arthur,” Dutch greets him

“Didn’t think you’d be dead yet, Dutch,” Arthur says. He recognizes the cabin they’re in now – it’s the one from Colter. “Micah put one in your back or was it the law?”

Dutch freezes where he’s at and stares hard at Arthur before looking over Arthur’s shoulder, presumably at Hosea.

“You okay there, son—”

“Don’t call me _son_ after all you’ve done,” Arthur snarls, leaving Dutch at the fire as he goes to look out the window.

Yeah, this was Colter, and it was as good a Hell as any Arthur could have imagined. He just didn’t get why Dutch and Hosea were with him. From his window, he watches as Lenny disappears into one of the other cabins. Poor boy, Hell wasn’t what he deserved.

And he must’ve been talking out loud because when he turns back around, ready to take Dutch to task for his many sins – leaving John to die, leaving Arthur to die, letting Micah have his way – all of it – and what better place to do it than in a place where shit can’t get any worse – when he sees Dutch staring him, mouth agape and raw hurt in his eyes.

It is—it’s more emotion than what Arthur had seen from him in _so_ long, especially after Hosea was gone, and it rings _true_.

Hosea is quick to say, “Don’t mind him, Dutch. He just woke up – I was just telling him that it must have been some nightmare he’d had.”

“Must’ve been,” Dutch says, his voice breaking in that odd way that it often does, but he never looks away from Arthur.

For a second, Arthur doubts.

But Arthur remembers – he remembers the cold of the mountain and the blood in his lungs and the pain of Dutch just walking away, as if all that Arthur had ever given him – his blood and his soul and his whole _goddamned_ life – had never mattered.

He remembers dying alone.

He remembers his only comfort being the knowledge that it’d all be over soon; that while he hadn’t killed Micah, he’d at least gotten John and Abigail and Jack and Tilly safe.

He remembers watching the sun rise and then he remembers nothing.

“A hell of a nightmare,” Hosea says, his soft words startling Arthur from his reverie, making him slide his gaze from Dutch to Hosea.

“You missed all the best parts,” Arthur says, his throat tight and he’s sure that those are tears he feels on his cheeks. “Micah was the one who led them to us in Blackwater; he did it again at Beaver’s Hollow. Lenny died with you in Saint Denis,” Arthur makes a gesture at the cabin he saw Lenny head into, “I assume that’s why he’s here, too. John almost died – no thanks to him,” another gesture, this time at Dutch. “Miss Grimshaw, Molly; Sean, in case you don’t remember that one. Kieran.”

Arthur sags against then slides down the wall, feeling all the fight and anger just leave him. It was exhausting – thinking about all those he’d lost in so short a time.

“Christ, what they did to Kieran,” Arthur scrubs a hand over his face. He looks up at Dutch. “You were right beside me, at Shady Belle, surely you remember that one at least?”

“Kieran?” Dutch asks. “Arthur, I don’t even know who that—”

Arthur is back on his feet and he _roars_ : “Do _not_ play games with me, Dutch! I _know_ what I saw. I _know_ what happened. I _know_ what I remember.”

“You need to calm down,” Dutch yells back, fists clenching. “You’re accusing me of things I ain’t never done.”

In days long gone by, Arthur would have cowed before Dutch’s anger – he would’ve dropped his eyes and apologized before disappearing to rob and steal until he had enough money to buy himself back into Dutch’s good graces. But, again: days long gone by.

Today, he stands his ground and he doesn’t look away.

“Arthur?”

Arthur whips his head around at the quiet little voice and sees Tilly standing at the door – he hadn’t even heard it open. Just behind her is Charles.

“Neither of you is supposed to be dead,” Arthur says stupidly as he stares at them. “Why are you dead? Tilly, my sweet girl, you were supposed to _run_ —”

“That’s _enough_ ,” Dutch shouts, kicking his chair as he advances on Arthur, shoving at him until he’s got Arthur against a wall. His fist lands hard against Arthur’s cheek – the pain of the contact blossoming across his face. Then it lands again and again and again.

 _There you are, Dutch_ , Arthur thinks to himself, not even bothering to raise a hand to defend himself nor to push Dutch away. It’d be easy – his body in this Hell was a healthy one, not yet wracked by the Tuberculosis or undereating. Instead, between punches, he grins at Dutch with bloody teeth.

Then Dutch is being pulled away by Charles and Hosea as Tilly kneels at Arthur’s side where he’s once more slumped down against the wall.

“Remember yet?” Arthur asks Dutch.

“Shut up, boy,” Hosea snaps at Arthur. Then he’s turning to Dutch and yelling, “Just get to your bed, please, I’ll deal with this,” as Hosea and Charles wrestle Dutch toward the second room of the cabin.

Dutch spits at Arthur before he shakes Charles and Hosea loose.

Arthur chuckles after him as Dutch slams the door shut.

The silence that settles over the room is broken by Arthur as he rises onto shaky legs. He looks at Hosea, says, “I told you to let the dead rest. And, since I am in fact dead, I am goin’ back to my rest.” He looks at Tilly and Charles. “You two,” he waves a hand between them, “need to go back to the livin’ – we ain’t got no room for the livin’ ‘round here. Dead only.”

Arthur ignores the mixed looks of shock and concern and fear on the faces of those gathered around him before he drags himself back to his cot and lays down – wholly unconcerned if he’ll wake again.

 

 

He does.

He thinks he does.

He just hears the wind outside and feels the cold in his bones and the way his face has been split open by a fist.

He ignores it all and turns onto his side and falls asleep again.

 

 

Arthur pushes himself to his feet – his face is still hurting but when he glances in a mirror, he can see where someone had come in and washed the blood away. Probably Tilly.

His head’s clearer but he’s still not sure why he’s in Colter.

He steps into the main room, Dutch and Hosea are seated in front of the fire. Dutch tenses but otherwise doesn’t acknowledge him – that falls to Hosea, who looks up at Arthur, wary, as he asks, “How’re you feelin’?”

 _Like I got mauled by a mad man_ , Arthur thinks, glancing at Dutch. Aloud, he simply says, “Sorry. About earlier.”

Dutch’s shoulders loosen, just a fraction, but it’s something, and he looks down at his hands – he’s been picking at where the skin of his knuckles had been cut by Arthur’s teeth. So much so that they were still bleeding and raw.

Arthur turns halfway into his little room and grabs his satchel before slowly walking over to Dutch. If this was a game, he’d have to play along – if just to see how it all ends (maybe this time it won’t end with _mountaintops_ and _insanity_ and _short sunrises_ ). Arthur kneels at Dutch’s feet and takes Dutch’s hand in his, and, using his scant few medical supplies, applies an ointment to the cuts before he wraps them.

The wrap is unnecessary, they all know it, but it’s obviously the right gesture when, after Arthur returns Dutch’s hand to him, Dutch reaches out and pulls Arthur in close.

Dutch and Hosea, while never having been overly affectionate, had never shied away from hugs or a brief kiss to the temple – especially when Arthur’d been younger, until he’d gotten too big to be pulled in (John had never accepted the casual touching, had flinched at every movement until Dutch and Hosea had given up completely of trying).

“I’m sorry, too,” Dutch says. “I shouldn’t have lost my temper like that.”

“I didn’t exactly help matters,” Arthur says, keeping his tone sincere even as his skin crawls. When it gets too much, he clears his throat and pulls away. Then he turns to Hosea and says, “I’m sorry to you, too.” He rubs at his eyes, acting like he was still shaking it all off. “You were right. It was just a nightmare.”

Hosea meets his eyes and nods, but Arthur knows he doesn’t believe him for a second. Arthur doesn’t spend any time trying to convince him – he knew better than that. Instead he stands and heads for the door – he could do this, he could fake his way through this.

Arthur opens the door and crosses the street to the other cabin – the one he’d seen Lenny disappear into – and enters.

And comes face to face with Micah.

Automatically, his fingers twitch towards his guns – fuck it, he couldn’t do this, no way. He looks at this Micah and remembers gunshots and pain and what his blood looks like in the dark as he tries to crawl his way towards a gun. He looks at Micah and hears an awful cackling laughter echoing around “hey, Black Lung” and “Dutch and I have some planning to do” – and, yeah, he can’t, not again, and then—

Then his hand closes on empty space.

His gun belt was still beside his bed.

He’s just starting to curse himself when Lenny, smiling wide and just this side of drunk, calls out, “Hey, Arthur. You feelin’ alright? You’ve been sleeping since day before yesterday.”

Arthur shares a look with Charles, who just gives him a small shrug – he hadn’t told anyone what he’d seen go down between Arthur and Dutch. Arthur gives him a small nod of thanks before he turns back to Lenny, says, “I just wasn’t ready to face this cold.”

“I hear that,” Lenny says, nodding as he takes a sip of his whiskey.

Bill says something stupid then and Javier jumps in and it’s all too familiar because as soon as Micah starts on Lenny, Arthur shuts him down quick. Maybe too quick, maybe too harsh – judging by the looks of the others. Lenny didn’t exactly need the protection, but Arthur doesn’t apologize for it. Instead, he just takes a moment to be happy his gun ain’t with him – he’s thinkin’ that he’s too likely to pull the trigger in Micah’s direction.

 

 

Arthur doesn’t wait to be asked to retrieve John – nor does he wait on Javier. He simply goes out and gets the stupid man himself. He wanders a little, trying hard to remember where exactly John’d gotten himself lost to the last time he’d done this.

When he gets his bearings and he’s hauling John up onto his shoulder, he wonders how many more of these moments he’s going to have to repeat, how many he’ll be able to either avoid or change the outcome.

He’s back at camp all of two minutes before he’s riding out with Charles to hunt.

“Thanks,” he says, soon as they’re mostly on their own, “for not saying anything.”

“Do you think it was really just a dream?” Charles asks.

Arthur hesitates. The Charles he knew – the one he’d hunted and robbed and killed with – he wouldn’t hesitate to tell that Charles everything. This Charles, though? This Charles was a near stranger to him. Then he remembers that this had been the first time they had talked – really talked. And he thinks that that means something.

“No,” Arthur says, answering Charles’s question. Then he tells Charles about how he remembers this moment – Charles and he kill two deer with the bow Charles had given him, he tells this Charles what the other Charles had told him about growing up without a mother, and a father who might as well have been gone, too.

Charles stops his horse as he listens – his eyebrows furrowed, and his head cocked to the side.

“I’ve never told anyone about that,” Charles says.

“Well, you told me,” Arthur says, turning his horse back towards the creek he knows they’ll find their deer.

Charles looks like he wants to press, but Arthur lifts one hand up as he uses the other to gesture at the snow.

“Didn’t think you knew how to track,” Charles says.

“You were the one who taught me,” Arthur says, hopping off his horse and pulling the bow from the saddle.

“How weird is this for you?” Charles asks, sliding from Taima. “Have you ever dreamed of the future before?”

“Very weird,” Arthur says, sliding into a crouch, “and no, never. Besides. It wasn’t a dream. This is just my own personal Hell. I am still very dead.”

Charles doesn’t respond as Arthur sights his first deer and, slowly, notches an arrow before letting it fly.

 

 

Charles asks: “What if you’re not dead?”

Arthur snorts.

 

 

They drop the meat off with Pearson and, the next day, Arthur is riding hard and fast after Kieran.

For a moment – he thinks about letting Kieran run, letting him escape – Kieran might still die some wicked way, but it won’t be because his eyes were cut from his skull before his skull was placed in his hands as what’s left of him is sent riding into Shady Belle.

Sure, there had been good days for Kieran and Arthur – a fishing trip here and there, conversations about what to do with burdock root and the best ways to calm a skittish horse – but Arthur’s not sure if he can live through them again, not when he knows how it all ends; not when he already knows all Kieran knows.

He’s surrounded by too many ghosts as it is.

Arthur’s just starting to slow his horse when he thinks about having to face Dutch empty-handed. Arthur curses before he kicks his horse back up to speed, pulling his lasso from its spot and tossing it through the air.

He hasn’t even finished hogtying Kieran before he’s snapping, “All you got to do is shut up, okay? Just shut the fuck up and stand there and look pretty, you fuckin’ hearin’ me, O’Driscoll?”

“Please, sir, I ain’t—”

“I know you ain’t, boy,” Arthur snaps as he finishes the knots and slings Kieran over his shoulder. “ _I_ know you ain’t – but the others _don’t_. So, behave yourself, and you won’t be tied to a tree so long this time ‘round. That fine with you?”

Kieran struggles to look at Arthur once Arthur’s stowed him in place on his horse.

“What the hell are you talkin’ about, mister?”

“Nevermind,” Arthur says, shaking his head and swinging himself up into his saddle.

“Please, sir, my name’s Kieran _Duffy_ – I ain’t an—”

Arthur turns and smacks the boy in the head – he’d liked Kieran plenty, but he wasn’t going to listen to this all the way back to Colter. “What’d I tell you?” he says. “Shut. Up.”

Kieran comes to just outside of Colter, when Arthur’s hollerin’ for Dutch. The boy’s scared and part of Arthur is loathe to turn him over to Bill just yet. But he’s supposed to be playing his part – so he does as he’s told.

 

 

Arthur is staring into the fire in the cabin he shares with Dutch and Molly and Hosea, though Molly has taken to keeping herself locked away in her and Dutch’s room. The man himself has just walked in and is stomping snow off his boots before he settles down in the chair besides Arthur; Hosea just behind him.

Dutch’s shoulders have tensed again and Hosea is looking just _tired_.

“Our little hostage,” Dutch starts, almost hesitant, “his name’s Kieran.”

So much for playing a part. “Is it?” Arthur asks, not breaking his gaze from the fire.

“Arthur,” Hosea asks, “is he the same Kieran from your dream?”

 _Not a dream_ , Arthur thinks, finally looking over to Dutch, then Hosea. **_This_** _is the dream. This is Hell. This is my afterlife and this is my game_.

“You’re making it hard for me to pretend that that never happened,” Arthur says.

“As if you tried,” Hosea retorts, his words, as always, coming quick; there’s an accusation in his tone, but it’s cautious – as if he’s not quite sure this was a fight he wanted to have, as if he was afraid of what the outcome was. Because if what Arthur said was true about Kieran – it opened the door for all the other things to be true, too.

“What does it matter?” Arthur asks. He forces himself to stay calm – to not let himself be riled.

“It matters to me,” Dutch says, quiet. Quiet enough that Arthur looks at him – Dutch readily meeting his gaze. “We’re all thinking it – if this Kieran is your Kieran, then what else were you right on? Were you right about me? About Micah?”

“Oh, I’m definitely right about Micah,” Arthur can’t help but snort.

“Trust me, Arthur,” Dutch says, his hand landing heavy on Arthur’s shoulder, “I can make this right. I can do right by you – just let me know how.”

Arthur stares, he looks deep into Dutch’s eyes and he sees Dutch’s sincerity. He also sees Dutch’s madness, small and young though it is.

“I think the right thing,” Arthur starts, standing and gently slipping out from under Dutch’s touch, “is _not_ to trust you.” Then, quickly, he adds, “Not yet, anyway.”

“And Micah?” Hosea asks.

That one was easy. “Send him on his way by the day after tomorrow,” Arthur says, “or I will put a bullet in ‘im myself.” To Dutch he says, “ _Trust me_ when I say he’s the one who betrayed us in Blackwater and he will do so again. He’s in the Pinkerton’s pockets.”

Dutch struggles with that.

“The whole time I’ve known you,” Arthur continues, stepping in close once more, “I’ve only ever seen you go so blind for one person – Annabelle – and just like then, this won’t end pretty, Dutch. It’ll only end in blood. It’ll always end in blood.”

“Maybe this time—” Hosea starts, but Arthur cuts him off.

“Maybe nothing,” he says, glaring hard at Hosea even as he keeps his voice even. “The first time I was up here, I’d’ve added your name, my name, and John’s name to that list,” Arthur glances down at Dutch, who was now staring at the floor between his boots, “but, like I said, I saw how that ended. _Bloody_.”

Silence stretches thick between them.

“Turn Micah loose,” Arthur says, “or I’ll do it for you. If you can’t, Dutch, then I have to go.” Dutch’s head whips up. “I can’t go through this all twice. I know that I’m dead and I’m in Hell and I’m supposed to be suffering – but, goddammit, Dutch, I _can’t_. I can’t do it all again.”

Dutch stands, silent, and starts walking towards his room.

“If you let me leave,” Arthur says, watching out of the corner of his eye as Dutch freezes in place, “you’ll just prove me right.”

All at once the hesitation leaves Dutch’s body as he turns on his heel and walks briskly out the door. Hosea and Arthur are sharing a look when the sound of a gunshot rings out through the stillness, the echo absorbed by the snow falling lightly from the sky.

It sounded like the start of something new.

 

-z-

 

End.

**Author's Note:**

> \--I loved writing this because I got to use my own accent throughout.  
> \--I thought about writing more and maybe doing a sort of game rewrite, but I hardly have the attention span for it. Maybe I'll get a wild hair and write more, but as of this posting this work is complete.


End file.
